Turquoise
by Clockwork Counterfeit
Summary: A ghost bound to his room, watching people move in and out. Alfred happens to be the next one to move in.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N****- **I read somewhere that a garnet ring was supposed to be a pathway for the soul. But then I couldn't find the source again, but the idea stuck in my head. Hence—one shot!

**EDIT:** ... At least, it _was_ a one-shot until I added another chapter.

So then I looked it up and found out Turquoise said to being spiritual clarity and wisdom and trust and all that happy stuff. And so it became the title.

It's supposed to be UK → US. I think. I need to work on romance.

* * *

><p>How long had it been since he died? Thirty years?<p>

Something like that. Around three decades. Maybe four, if his sense of time had really screwed up. And yet, somehow, he managed to stay in the mortal realm, a ghost, bound to the room where he had been poisoned and killed.

Yay.

He could leave the room, if he wanted, the medium-sized bedroom that had been repainted at least twice over the last thirty years. For a little while, he could walk around the house to see if anything was happening, but could never leave his room for long. If physically hurt to stay away from it, and he was always drawn back. So he usually just stayed in his room.

Many families moved in and out of the house. He watched them, usually without interest. They claimed there was something creepy about the house, ominous, like it was haunted.

Heh.

They usually left before they reached the three year point. One couple persevered and lasted six years, but eventually they too were driven out by Arthur's ghostly presence.

He remembered when the Jones-Williams family moved in.

He didn't expect their stay to be all that long, either. He knew that the current family—surname Vargas or some such—was preparing to sell it, and he figured some nice couple would buy it and again convert what was once his bedroom into a storage room or something similar. Then three years later they would leave and the cycle would continue. Usually, they would leave his room alone.

So he was mildly surprised when a noisy blonde teenager burst into the room, carrying more boxes than he appeared capable of. He took one look around and then called out in a voice far louder than necessary, "Mattie! I get this room, 'kay?" Arthur observed this boy from the closet door, immediately unimpressed with his attitude.

The one at said boy's door—Mattie, he was called—who held significantly fewer things, raised an eyebrow and replied, "If you want it." He looked thoughtful, "It's a little creepy, if you ask me. The room." Arthur frowned. Never once did that insult get old.

The teenager tilted his head. "No it's not! Don't be silly, Matt!" So he lacked any ability to sense Arthur was there. Huh. "Hey, I'm gonna get the bed and start setting it up. Can you help me?"

"Yeah, yeah…" Mattie put down his own box and followed his brother back to the front door.

That was the git who would be living in this room.

Right. Jolly good.

* * *

><p>At first, Arthur just ignored his new "roommate". He mostly resided in the closet, pretending he could sleep or stared at the wall and ceiling, but when Alfred—as he later learned the git's name to be—went out to school or the movies or whatever he felt like doing that day, Arthur would venture out to the rest of the room, lay down on the bed, watch the busy suburb out the window, his only real form of entertainment.<p>

But then, after a while… He didn't know when or especially _why_, but he started _talking _to the idiot American. Small things, unimportant, reminders and criticisms. Not that said idiot American could hear him.

"Hey, git, it's getting late. Shouldn't you be starting your homework?"

"Staying up all night without dinner won't help you pass a test, smartass."

"I've heard of that Belarusian girl. The family who used to live here spoke of her. Isn't she supposed to be crazy?"

"Alfred, you press the B button when he fires an attack. And here you claim to be _good_ at video games."

"I've seen Dr. Who episodes with better special effects than that. And you _hate_ horror movies. Honestly, why do you watch these things when you have nightmares after?"

Or respond.

He didn't hate Alfred. No. At some point, he started smiling lightly at the stupid little things Alfred did, like when he lost something and ran around his room searching for it or cheered far too loudly at winning a game or stole the stuffed polar bear from his brother and proclaimed it to be the supervillain of his latest story (the boy would be an excellent novelist with his imagination). Just a soft smile at his idiocy.

* * *

><p>Alfred brought over friends every now and then, too. A petit Asian boy he met when he first moved here seemed to be his best friend. "Check it, Kiku!" Alfred said the first time Kiku came to his house. "This is my room! Isn't it cool?"<p>

"It's very nice, Alfred-kun." The boy replied. Arthur was puzzled and annoyed at the "-kun", but mostly because he had considered himself someone knowledgeable in both culture and vocabulary and yet had no idea what the small word meant. "It… It has an odd aura about it." The British ghost rolled his eyes. Why did it have to be "odd" or "creepy"? Why couldn't it just be "different"?

"Hm? Really?" Alfred looked back at his friend from where he was preparing some video game. "I've never sensed anything." _That might be because your sixth sense is the most pathetic thing I've ever seen_.

"It may just be my imagination," Kiku assured him. "But if you ever need any spiritual wards, I will make you some." Like with when he first met Alfred, Arthur was very unimpressed with this Kiku character. Was it necessary to do say he might need to be exorcized? Arthur never did any damage to anybody. _He_ was the one who was murdered. What idiot decided to spread propaganda that ghosts were evil?

As such, he took a disliking to Kiku.

Because Kiku wanted to exorcize him.

He was in no way jealous that Kiku could interact with annoying American git.

And if it was, it was because Arthur couldn't interact with anyone at all, and he and Alfred happened to live in the same room, and as such Alfred would be the most logical choice to interact with.

That is, if Alfred knew he existed.

* * *

><p>He learned many small things about Alfred F. Jones.<p>

Arthur soon learned Alfred had a love for superheroes—Superman and Captain America in particular, along with a few heroes from the books of that irritating Kiku boy—and liked to consider himself one, even though he had neither the superpowers nor the technological genius that Arthur had gathered were required for the job.

Alfred also loved animals. He had a special fondness for whales and claims to his brother that he befriended the one at the local aquarium, but Matthew clearly had his doubts on the subject. He also kept a strange alien toy in his room named Tony. He even made a back story for the doll involving the Roswell incident. Apparently now Tony was a special agent of Area 51 and worked for the United States government as an intergalactic ambassador.

Arthur, too, had his doubts.

He learned on July Fourth that Alfred was fifteen upon moving to the house and, ten months later, he was sixteen. Arthur realized that, if one counted ghost years, he was probably around forty-five or fifty, but without them was around the same age.

That also meant Alfred was allowed to drive.

_Heaven or hell help whoever has to teach Alfred F. Jones to drive_, Arthur thought with a smirk.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe him!" Alfred opened and shut his bedroom door with a slam. "He's freaking mad at me over nothing!"<p>

Arthur, who before had been lying down on the floor and trying to see what shapes he could imagine on the ceiling, looked over with curiosity at his "roommate". Someone was mad at him? Matthew? Kiku didn't get mad at him, not really, and Matthew could snap if wanted to. "What did you do?" he asked.

He was surprised to get a response, but then quickly remembered Alfred was probably just ranting. It disappointed him, that little reminder in the back of his mind. Arthur Kirkland can't delude himself for a minute, huh? "It's not like I even did anything! That guy gets pissed at me over nothing! Calls me an insensitive capitalist jerk. I mean, he's the one who's insensitive and everything, and that accident happened forever ago and—damn, I hate that guy!"

Alfred rolled over on the bed, facing the wall and away from Arthur. "He shouldn't be mad. That guy's just a jerk. Why should they hang out? I mean, he even once tried to kill me with a baseball bat." Arthur frowned at the exaggeration, narrowed his eyes, knit his monstrous eyebrows.

"Hey, Alfred, I never told you how I died, did I?" he said softly, knowing the teenager couldn't hear him, but continued anyway. "My parents had a deal with these people. I don't know who or why, but the deal was if they couldn't pay off some nice total, then I was going to die. My parents chose to run away. Cowards." He stared at the ceiling. "But those people, the debt collectors, they found my parents. They stayed for dinner and everything. I should have noticed something, but I didn't. They were shit-scared when one of the men gave me the salt. Heh." It was a humorless laugh. "It's wasn't really salt, if you haven't guessed. It's been thirty or so years, but I still haven't figured out exactly what it was they gave me when I asked for the salt. All I know is that a few hours later, I died in this room of some quick-working poison. My parents claimed it to be a fatal seizure or something. But then I woke up, a ghost, stuck in this room. Why do you think that is? Why am I still here?"

Alfred didn't answer.

Of course not.

Alfred couldn't hear anything.

* * *

><p>"Alfred, I don't understand why you change in the closet," Arthur was going on. "I mean, can't the closet at least be mine?" He didn't like having to face the front door. It always bothered him, like he was waiting for someone to knock. But he also didn't want to seewatch Alfred changing. What kind of gentleman would he be if he did that? Or at least not-creeper? "Anyway, how long does it take to put on a shirt and pants? I know you dress as simple as they get, it can't possibly take that long."

Alfred finally emerged from the closet, and Arthur took his place at the closet doorway. He was always there, leaning against the frame and watching the room, and talking, acting like he can hear him while the reminder he most definitely could not stayed in the front of his mind. "Thank you. Can't you change out here so I can have my closet? I hardly think that's too much to ask."

And then Alfred starting looking around. Like he was surprised or scared, or even just confused. "Did someone… say something?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN****- **That's right, I left it like that.

Cuba was "that guy". Just so you know. I loved that one strip in the manga when he had a baseball bat. Cuba, I love you 3.

R&R? &R&R&R&R?


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N****- **I'm surprised. I didn't expect it to be so well-received. Thank you all so much! :D

... So I read the reviews and suches and then I was all like, 'imma make another chapter' and so I spent a few days on it then I deleted it then I tried again and I'm still not sure. But you know. Life.

Still UK → US. I think. -begins planning new romance fic so she can stop staying 'I think'-.

* * *

><p>"Did someone… say something?"<p>

Arthur stared. There was no way.

No way.

Nobody could hear him.

Nobody could see him.

Nobody knew he was there.

"Alfred?" he said, tentative. "Hello?"

"… Must be my imagination." Alfred's laugh was forced, nervous, "I mean, everyone always telling me the place is creepy and everything, finally getting to me." His voice dropped to a mutter as he attempted to forget the subject. "What was it Matt needed help with?" He left his room all too quickly.

Of course.

Alfred's rationalization became Arthur's.

It was just his imagination. He happened to imagine a voice while Arthur was talking. Just a fluke. An accident. Nothing.

Arthur Kirkland cannot delude himself.

* * *

><p>When Alfred returned from wherever he had been with his brother, Arthur was waiting as usual, like Alfred may or may not have noticed he was there. "Welcome back. How was it?" He spoke the words like he had many times before.<p>

Nothing.

"You left your tellie on, you git. Don't you know what power bills are likes these days? Really, one day your mother's just going to take the thing away from you." He didn't mention that, despite the less-than-satisfying program that had been on said television, he had been entertained by it.

Got his mind off earlier that day.

No answer.

"And you've left your room a mess again. I know you think you're the only one who lives here, but could you show some courtesy for the dead and clean up every once in a while?" He sighed in exasperation.

"Whatever." The word was quiet, offhand, like Alfred didn't even realize he was talking.

* * *

><p>Their one-sided conversations continued as always. Arthur didn't admit it, but he watched Alfred's expressions much closer—looking for subtle changes, for understanding, for acknowledgement he wasn't alone.<p>

Whenever there was, Arthur rationalized it away.

He stopped doing that, one night. He heard Alfred talking with someone—likely his brother, who might as well be a ghost himself with how often Arthur forgot he was just one room over.

"Matt, can I stay in your room tonight?"

"Why?" Matthew sounded more confused than anything.

"'Cause I… I'm the hero, and something's gonna attack you tonight!" Arthur thought the declaration nonsense, but the discussion… well, he was pretty sure it involved him.

"What's going to attack me?" Matthew clearly didn't believe him.

Alfred paused thoughtfully. "It's a big monster! With lots of tattoos and black fingernails and a lot of arms!"

"… So, a person with a lot of arms is going to attack me tonight." Arthur smirked at his tone.

"Exactly, so I'm staying with you!"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Mattie, do you wanna die?"

Arthur frowned. But he was definitely not hurt.

Not at all.

Just like he wasn't lonely, or tired or being invisible, or even just sick of people coming into this house and not-hurting him with their stupid ignorance.

Nothing like that.

* * *

><p>When Alfred sleepily emerged from his brother's room the next morning, Arthur was waiting at the door to the bedroom. He felt the dull ache that always came with leaving the room, even if he wasn't technically "out." A kind of warning, he supposed. "Don't leave your territory," the ache always seemed to say.<p>

"Hey, git, can you hear me right now?" If he could, he made no response. "I know you can sometimes. And you're avoiding me now." No response. Alfred didn't even glance his way. "Clap once for yes, twice for no." His hands twitched, but Arthur didn't try to interpret it. "Your brother isn't stupid, and neither am I—I know you're avoiding me. I'm not haunting _you_, if that's what you're scared of."

"… Imagination." The word wasn't half as convincing as it should have been.

It was the only proof he need Alfred was listening. "It's not!" he snapped. "It's not your fucking imagination! Damn, why is _this_ the _only_ fucking thing you don't believe? Alfred, I..." He saw Alfred's tense, scared, angry expression. Stopped. Gave up. "Whatever. Pretend I'm a figment of your imagination. Pretend your stupid friend's spiritual wards work." Arthur himself pretended, acted like there was no pain in his words. Pretended he didn't find himself liking Alfred's presence in the room that was once his deathbed. "Move out before you've lived here three years, just like everyone else. It'll make no difference to me."

It would.

But he was sure it wouldn't.

* * *

><p>Alfred entered the room later that day. He had to—it was his room, there was no avoiding that fact. Arthur stayed silent. He couldn't leave because he didn't like the dull ache that went with leaving. And so he stayed.<p>

If Alfred wanted to avoid him, then he wouldn't speak.

At first, Alfred didn't talk, either. That was fine. He hadn't expected any different. He played a video game for an hour, one Arthur was pretty sure Kiku had given him for his birthday, but if Arthur had watched and criticized and paid any attention like he always did, then he would of noticed Alfred was neither noisy nor particularly focused on the game.

After an hour, he finally said something. "Have you been here the entire time?"

At first, Arthur didn't respond. He thought Alfred was talking to himself, or repeating a line from some game or comic. Like he always did. Then he snapped up, stared, realized what Alfred was talking about.

Unfortunately, the first thing that came to mind was sarcasm. "No, I died in here one day when you were at the movies. Then I hid my own body. It's under your dresser, if you wanted to know."

Alfred winced. The sound of "Game Over" rang throughout the room, filling the new silence. "… So, the entire time."

"It's good to know logic occurs to you every now and then," His voice was acid. He was convincing himself to believe what he said earlier. _It wouldn't mean anything if he left. So many have before him._

"I've never talked with a… with a ghost before." A ghost. The word sounded frightened.

_Figures he would be afraid of ghosts_. Was his imagined heroism the only thing keeping him from running out?

"Most people don't. Congratulations." It was only after he said it that he realized Alfred was probably looking for a reassurance Arthur wasn't anything of the spiritual persuasion.

"So how long have you been here?" There was new curiosity to his voice. Arthur wondered if it was fake—if it was, he was very good at acting like it wasn't.

"Thirty years or so, but lately I've been thinking it was thirty-five." He tried to sound nonchalant about it, bored. Bored was easy. He was often very bored.

"What's your name?"

He blinked. "Arthur Kirkland."

* * *

><p>Alfred seemed to alternate between "imagination" and awkward conversations. Arthur figured it was whenever his surprisingly quickly-developing ability to hear him was a little unreceptive, it was a lot easier to deny something like this.<p>

He didn't tell Matthew, from what Arthur understood. He said everything was normal, like there wasn't a thirty-or-maybe-thirty-five-year-old ghost just hanging out in his room. Or his mother, or their father, who didn't live with them anyway.

"What was life like back then?" Question of the day. Curiosity still prevailed in his tone. Curiosity, interest, fear.

Fear. Two weeks since their first two-way conversation, and Alfred still didn't like sleeping in his own room.

"As you'd expect. Less technology, for one thing." Neither of them spoke in monologue—maybe a couple of fragmented sentences at most. It was amazing, really, given how with anyone else Alfred could talk a mile a minute and how Arthur had always considered himself a person of the social variety, and yet regarding one another, it was like a couple strangers shoved together in one room with neither completely sure of why.

Oh. Wait.

"What did you do for fun?"

"Reading." Arthur stayed in one corner of the room, Alfred laid on his bed.

"What about after the fact?" Alfred didn't like saying "die" or any variations of "die". Finally some respect. If only it wasn't for one the things Arthur didn't care about.

"Watched." He made no move to clarify what he meant by that. "Alfred, are you going to move out, now that you know I'm here?"

"I don't really have much of a say," he replied, defensive.

"… Would you be happy to move?"

Alfred didn't reply.

* * *

><p>Another week passed.<p>

Arthur tried to ignore Alfred's lack of answer regarding his question.

"I'm going to school now," he said, as if the ghost hadn't already guessed from the backpack, the textbook, and him being fully dressed before eight o' clock.

"I would say 'have fun', but from what I understand, algebra and chemistry aren't the kind of things you enjoy. What ever happened to 'learning for learning's sake'?"

"You sound like an old man." Despite that, Alfred had grown more comfortable around him, and started teasing him like that. It was annoying, but Arthur suspected it was because of the question Alfred didn't answer. Like it had made Arthur seem more human.

Heh.

Also likely because of that, his other questions had gotten much more… eccentric ("When was the first time you heard about YouTube?" "Did you ever go to those Fifties restaurants with the waitresses on roller skates? Is it fun?" "So my friend says it's weird to call the Spanish-American war the SPAM war. Is it?"). It made Arthur laugh. On the inside.

For the record, Alfred could still move away and he wouldn't feel a thing.

"I'm three times your age, if you count my dead years," he retorted. He, unlike Alfred, had no problems reminding him and anyone else that could hear (so... Alfred and himself) that not only was he dead, but at the moment, to the dense blonde, he was also a disembodied voice.

"Yeah, yeah." Alfred laughed. "See you when I get back."

Arthur blinked. "Bye."

It was the first time Alfred had said something like that.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**- Does this require another chapter? I'm not sure. If it does, Imma plan this out a little more.

Is _this_ chapter even any good? That's more important! Oui~!

And I do call the **Sp**anish-**Am**erican war the SPAM war. I said this out loud and my friend was all 'wut'. It was funny. Keep that in mind.

… I don't know why, but keep it in mind. :]

Reviews~?


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N-** So I'll either end it next chapter or the one after, depending on who long my writing goes on.

And I thank criticism and reviews, brutal or otherwise!

* * *

><p>"Hey, Arthur, I'm back." His voice was loud as ever. Arthur sighed—it would be stupid be as noisy as he usually was and not act like he was talking to an imaginary friend.<p>

"No one's home," Arthur informed him anyway. Not like it would matter to the dense American.

Alfred waited a minute. His face shadowed with confusion, and then he grimaced. Arthur followed suit. It was one of _those_ days.

Arthur didn't know if it was that there was some battery that needed recharging, or there were just some unlucky days, but there were days when Alfred's couldn't hear him at all, like back when he first moved in. Alfred seemed to think he had said something wrong the day before and Arthur was brooding—despite the numerous insistences that that was _not_ the case. Arthur did not _brood_. Nor did he sulk or stay upset for long periods of time.

"I never understand why you get mad at me." Alfred said.

"I don't." Arthur replied, but Alfred didn't hear. Arthur ignored that sense of loneliness and fear. What if this new inability was permanent? Every time, every unlucky day, that question ran through his head. _What would happen from there?_

* * *

><p>Another day, another time, another night of Alfred attempting his Europe history homework and failing. M<em>iserably<em>.

Sighing, Arthur looked down at the paper. Something about Machiavelli. Arthur remembered reading some things of his, and then spending days trying to figure out whether or not it was satire or not. It had really bothered him, and looking back he never really did come to a conclusion, did he… "You're having a problem with this again, aren't you?" He still had to be the one to initiate most conversations. It bothered him, but at least it wasn't every conversation. _Right Kirkland, look on the bright side. You still have no idea why you're not completely dead, and now an annoying American git's living in a room you can't leave, and now he can hear you but you don't know why that is either, but at least you don't have to initiate every fucking conversation._

Alfred hesitated as he thought about whether or not to ask whatever question might be on his mind. "Where is Florence again?"

"In Italy." Alfred didn't respond. "In Central Italy." Another pause. Arthur could practically _feel_ the confusion and the pathetic attempt to hide it. "That one country that looks like a boot?"

The metaphorical lightbulb went off in his head. "Oh right!" He looked proud of himself, grinning with all his cheerful idiocy (it was totally _not_ endearing in anyway).

Arthur, as per the typical in situations like this, was not proud of the git. "What inspired you to take this class again?"

"I need the credit and I've already taken World and American."

"And how did you do in World history?" No response. Maybe something embarrassed flitting across his face. "Figured."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Alfred whipped his head in the general direction of Arthur's voice—which was surprisingly more accurate than the other times he had tried to see the ghost. Arthur moved to the left, but his gaze stayed where it was.

"I mean your skill in remembering things regarding other countries is not what I would call remarkable." His head swiveled slightly, facing where Arthur stood, his expression puzzled, like he realized the Brit had moved.

He didn't know if he should crush the hope in him or let it run free.

* * *

><p>"And you're positive it's supposed to be black and red?" Alfred sounded very skeptical as he likely checked the oven… again.<p>

"Of course, lad, I can cook as well as the next person." It would probably be easier if Arthur was there to watch, but for now he could only teach Alfred his amazing recipe from the bedroom. He kind of missed cooking. He was always told he should make food for the government; maybe show it off to the Soviets, end the Cold War with his amazing food.

"Well, it's just I thought scones turned red after you put Jell-O—"

"_Jam_. You do not put _gelatin_ on scones, git." Honestly, the boy's mother can't even teach him proper toppings for scones? Did she teach him his colors wrong, too?

"Okay, fine, jam comes on scones and then they turn red, right?"

"Don't doubt me. Just because I'm not there to watch does not mean I'm teaching you wrong."

"If you say so."

Maybe around ten or twenty minutes later when Miss Jones came home, she panicked when she thought Alfred had somehow come into contact with a gang of some sort and they were forcing him to make weapons for them. That was really quite rude, if one asked Arthur.

"Mom, I was just trying to make some scones!" Alfred argued again.

"Scones are not black, dear." They were too. These Americans clearly knew nothing of scones. "Now go to your room, and I'll get rid of these. It's nice that you wanted to cook." That sounded more off-hand, but Arthur figured Alfred didn't catch that.

"You said they were supposed to black and red!" was the first thing to pop out of his mouth once the door shut. "Apparently that's not even close."

"They were always like that when I made them." Arthur shrugged, a lost gesture to the American who couldn't see him. "Must be the modern ovens."

"Of course, blame it on the ovens." Alfred rolled his eyes before bursting into laughter.

"As I well should." Green eyes narrowed. "…Why are you laughing?" And Alfred did _not_ look cute when he laughed.

"No reason, I promise." And yet he was. At _something_.

"You do have a reason!" Arthur snapped, but with very little annoyance actually there.

As he kept talking, trying to get an answer out of the irritating American, he completely missed Alfred say, "It's fine, eyebrows."

* * *

><p>Alfred brought Kiku over very often. Usually, it was to play games or work on schoolwork together or even read those odd books the little Japanese boy brought with him. It was no different today.<p>

He was in that odd chair of his—a papasan, as Alfred had informed him a number of different times—while Kiku stayed on the bed. Alfred was looking through one of his textbooks, clearly trying to memorize every word (whether or not he would be successful in such an endeavor Arthur would know by the end of the following day) for whatever test that would be coming up. He was also munching on some McDonalds. Arthur personally was not a fan of the brand. It was too salty for his tastes.

Kiku chose to write down notes from his own textbooks, something Arthur figured was much more practical. However, while he respected Kiku's better studying tactics, he did not like Kiku. He was about as indifferent to Kiku as he was to Alfred.

Because Alfred meant nothing.

Even in his mind, that insistence felt weak. He believed it all the same.

"Alfred-kun, are you all right? You seem… worried."

"Tests are annoying." Alfred's head snapped up and he grinned. "Can we skip studying and play that new game? Please? Umm… what's it called…" His eyebrows closed together as he tried to remember the title. Arthur would have reminded him if he was in a better mood or if he knew the name of the game himself.

"Alfred-kun, can you afford a bad grade?"

"I get awesome grades!"

"You brought home a D last time, didn't you?" Arthur remarked. Alfred glared in his direction, much to Kiku's confusion.

"Alfred-kun…?"

"Nothing." It was immediate and panicked, puzzling Kiku further.

"Maybe you understand there's a third person in the room?" Arthur asked, knowing full well Kiku wouldn't reply. "I doubt it, little exorcist." Yes, he still smarted over that. Not that it was childish or immature—no, definitely not. Alfred let out an angry grunt.

"Alfred-kun, if you really want to play the game…" Kiku apparently thought Alfred was entering the beginning stages of pouting as he didn't get what he wanted.

"Of course he does." Arthur rolled his eyes as he spoke. "You probably shouldn't, since he's spoiled, but you're the compliant type, aren't you?" Yes, he was in a bad mood due to the presence of that stupid bag of McDonalds in the corner of his vision and maybe a sense of envy—not one he would admit to—at the front of his mind. And yes, that might affect his behavior. Just a little.

"Let's just study, I guess." Alfred's voice sounded cheerful enough, like all was good again, but Arthur guessed he wasn't very happy at the moment.

* * *

><p>"Dude!" Alfred snapped the minute Kiku was out of the house. "Why did you keep saying things like that?"<p>

"My honest opinion. You seem to no problem giving yours." Arthur's voice was steady, calm, not really hiding the bad mood underneath, but hey.

"Yeah, but even if he can't hear you, it's still really jerkish!"

"'Jerkish'. Interesting word. What language would that be?"

Alfred glared in his direction. He's done a lot of that this afternoon. Glaring. "The hell is wrong with you? Usually when you're mad you just don't talk!"

"I've told you repeatedly that's not the case!" Arthur retorted.

Their argument was interrupted. "Alfred, who are you talking to? Kiku just left, right?" Matthew popped his head into Alfred's bedroom.

They both jumped. Only Alfred visibly. "Uh, nothing."

"Then…?" An eyebrow rose.

"Just talking." Alfred shrugged, doing very good to act like nothing was wrong.

Matthew smiled. "Because you love the sound of your own voice."

Cue appalled Alfred. "Matthew! That is so not true!"

"I think it is." The younger brother's voice was a singsong.

He learned, later on, that Alfred would ignore him the rest of the night (as he always accused Arthur of doing, amazingly enough), but then resume life like nothing happened the next day. That was the kind of person he was.

Probably, anyway. Sometimes Arthur wondered if he ever made things worse.

* * *

><p><strong>AN-** I find it funny how bad salt is in this fic and yet I frikkin' _love_ salt in real life. I put it on everything. Salt~. Well, it's not funny… I think. It is! In my mind. Just roll with it and no one dies! Except for Arthur. But that's a given.

And I, for one, think gelatin on scones sounds freaking delicious.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**- Long _ending_ chapter is long. And hard to write. Mostly the beginning and end. I thought about splitting it up, but it works better as one long chapter, I think. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Arthur personally thought the movie Alfred decided to watch was stupid.<p>

That did not explain why he sat on the floor, about as fixated on the television as Alfred, but it was, in fact, a stupid movie. One of those new comedies with a brand of humor Arthur thought more or less crude but Alfred seemed to love.

Snapping out of—nothing, it was a stupid movie—he addressed Alfred. "Why are we watching this?"

"Because it's funny!" Alfred replied with all his usual cheer.

"Is it now." His attention went back to the screen. And, with the perfect timing Arthur was sure was people were only graced with in stories, something funny happened. It was one of the stupid jokes Arthur had dismissed as crude earlier on, but this time, a teenager despite his old-man-attitude, he couldn't help but laugh. Loud enough for Alfred to hear, annoyingly enough.

"Ha! I knew you had a sense of humor!" he sounded triumphant, like he had selected the movie for this very purpose.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean that I've never heard you laugh and now I got too!" The triumph did not leave his tone. Arthur thought it unnecessary. He _did_ have a sense of humor. He muttered a quiet "moron" under his breath.

There was a small pause in conversation. "You know, you should laugh more often." Alfred commented, sounding almost like an afterthought. "It sounds… really happy. Like it really counts."

Arthur eyed his friend, confused. Of course every laugh counted. That's what it was for. "You don't make sense." Alfred laughed. He had a really happy laugh, too, one that was easy to listen to because it was so carefree and joyous. Something about the laugh made Arthur smile on reflex. His psyche immediately motioned to say it meant nothing, as it had dozens of times before, but Arthur, under the pretense of boredom, stopped, took a moment to look back on the thought, and all previous thoughts which had led to his continual deni—rationalizations.

Maybe he liked Alfred. A lot. A lot more than he thought.

Maybe Arthur Kirkland should stop deluding himself.

* * *

><p>Arthur was fond of their daily life. Alfred, an idiot, yes, but he was also the kind of person who was fun to talk to when he was sure he kind of knew how to talk to a ghost. Even conversations relating to his ghostly abilities were entertaining… usually (the idea of possession Arthur tolerated. Things related to ghouls and <em>vampirism<em>, he did not). When Arthur informed him his range of power basically consisted of invisibility and intangibility—both not by choice—"disappointment" was an understatement (apparently, as such, Arthur was unqualified to be a superhero. Given he couldn't leave his own room, that was about as accurate an observation as any). Until the next day, when the conversation was promptly forgotten and the sun continued to travel across the sky.

He, however, did not like it when their daily life was interrupted by stupid ideas. "So what if I told Matthew you lived here?"

"'Lived'. Interesting wording." He was not avoiding the question, no matter how off-topic his response may have been.

Alfred either didn't notice the tangent or played along—it was irritatingly difficult to tell with him. "Do you prefer 'reside'? 'Inhabit'? 'Dwell', maybe?" His voice lapsed into a whimsical falsetto used entirely for mocking purposes, with even a lightly British accent (the bastard).

"Just get on with it." Arthur retorted.

Alfred took a moment to snicker at him before continuing. "'Cause, you know, he should really know you're here."

That was it? "That's never stopped you before. Or _me_, for that matter."

"I know… I don't like lying to him, though! He's my baby brother!"

"And yet he's more mature than you'll ever be." Still not avoiding the subject, thank you very much.

"You haven't met him!" He knew enough about Alfred back in his inaudible days that he could kind of say he met the teenager. Why couldn't the same hold true here? "He's shy and small and kind of a crybaby and—"

"Far more mature than you. Anyway," He was so not avoiding the subject and Alfred was so avoiding it that it was up to Arthur to get it back on track, "you haven't bothered with these thoughts before."

"Well, it's kind of awkward, you know? It'd be like introducing a secret girlfriend you've been going out with for a while." Invisibility, even when not by choice, was quite useful when one didn't want another to know he was bright red at that kind of analogy.

… Not that Arthur was blushing. Not at all, of course he wouldn't, perish the thought. It didn't matter that he liked the stupid git.

"So what do you think?" Alfred brought him out of his thoughts.

"Do what you like; I doubt my opinion on the matter is of any importance anyway." Arthur replied with as much indifference as he could manage (which would vary depending of point of view). Either way, Alfred had decided something and Arthur wasn't going to bother with it—he was still stuck where he was and not much was going to change because of this.

* * *

><p>"You're horrible with pranks, Alfred." That patient sentence summed up both Matthew's belief in the supernatural and his tolerance when dealing with Alfred's daily antics.<p>

"I'm not kidding, Matt!" That more frantic sentence summed up the progress of their conversation: absolutely none.

"Is this like the person with a lot of arms from a while back who was going to attack me in my sleep?" Arthur laughed. He really would like a proper conversation with Alfred's little brother.

"You're not funny."

"Neither are you."

"I'm not trying!" Alfred grunted in what Arthur assumed was annoyance. "There is literally a ghost in the room, right now!" Is Matthew supposed to take the sentence in a way other than literal?

"Alfred, I really don't think there—" Matthew frowned when he was cut off.

"_There is!_" Alfred insisted _again_.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Okay, so, pretending I believe you, how do you know there's a ghost?"

"I talk to him all the time!" Arthur's palm met his forehead. _You sound like you belong in a psych hospital, you complete git._ "He tells me all about what life was like back in the Eighties!"

"… Are you going through something stressful right now, because we can get you some help and everything and—"

"See, there's that 'not funny' thing again." Alfred was apparently not amused by such statements.

Matthew was not amused by such conversations. "Do you see him, too?" Judged by the tone, he likely expected some nonsensical answer.

Alfred paused. "… Sometimes." Arthur froze. "It kind of blinks on and off. Never for more than, like, five seconds."

"Liar." Arthur accused immediately, almost childishly. "You've never told me you can see me! You already sound crazy enough, and now you're lying to him!"

"Just because I didn't tell you doesn't mean I can't." Alfred replied, his eyes moving from his brother to his roommate.

"It does. I would have noticed."

"Apparently you didn't." His voice was a singsong, likely some attempt to cheer up his "roommate".

"Alfred, shut up." Matthew interrupted, almost harsh, but Matthew didn't really seem capable of 'harsh'. "You sound crazy."

"C'mon, Matt!" Again, his attention shifted. "I mean, you always say this place is creepy and all!"

"I didn't say it was haunted!"

"You conversation is going in circles, Alfred." Arthur informed him. "He obviously doesn't believe your stories. Being able to see me, honestly…" He thought for a second. "In hindsight, I probably should have realized this was going to happen."

The owner of their room paid him no attention in favor of continual attempts to talk to Matthew about "the British ghost guy in here dude I'm serious!"

* * *

><p>Alfred's attempts to continue conversing once Matthew left (with maybe-sorta-possible success at getting him to believe Arthur was there) didn't end up well.<p>

"You're ignoring me now?" Arthur crossed his arms, glared, but was silent. Just like he had been for the past two hours "And here you always yell at me for immaturity."

"Can you _see_ my being immature, too?" He finally snapped, sensitive to being called immature or anything similar to it. Especially by _Alfred_.

"Why are you mad?" Alfred pouted.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Arthur countered.

Alfred flopped back on his bed, obviously tired with the conversation, but now that Arthur was talking again, he was unwilling to end it. "It was kind of like when I could first hear you. I didn't know what to do, so I just said it was nothing."

"So your answer was to not talk to me about it. Your ability to deal with that which confuses you never ceases to amaze me."

Alfred didn't have a response for that. "Well, now my little brother thinks I'm a total schizo, so…"

Arthur accepted that one. "And maybe it would have gone over better if you had planned out what you wanted to say and—"

"You didn't tell me any of that!" To Arthur, the teenager's voice came out as a whine. As such, he did not care.

"Well, for one thing, it's not my job to tell you how to talk—but if we must I should inform you 'schizo' is not a word—and for another I would hope you had that foresight, but apparently I was wrong."

"You're so mean…"

"Right, right…" A different thought hit him. "What do I look like?"

"What?" Alfred sat up so fast he almost lost his balance.

"I haven't seen myself as much in three decades." After seeing the same face over and over for thirty years, it tends to look less like a face and more like a poster that happens to appear anytime you walk past the mirror. Like a background image.

He shrugged. "Short, blonde, green eyes." A grin spread across his face. "Giant eyebrows. Seriously, how did you even get those things?"

"It's good to know that's the detail you remember best." He tried for a cruel sarcasm, but it failed.

"Relax, you know you love me." Alfred laughed, the statement completely innocent to him but very alarming to Arthur.

He could only give biting retorts, fueling the American git's laughter further despite his best efforts.

* * *

><p>"She's coming!"<p>

"Alfred, put me down!" Matthew protested. Arthur, confused, leaned closer to the door (damn thing was closed) to hear more. Alfred sounded more excitable than usual.

"She's coming over tonight, Matthew! For dinner!"

"Slower, Alfred, I don't understand."

"Well, remember how we saw her all the time when we went to that movie rental place and then it turns out she was fun to talk to and then we started talking and now she's gonna come over aren't you excited too Matt!" Arthur told himself there was absolutely nothing lovestruck in Alfred's voice. The girl was just some friend that was coming over and then would leave and it would all be fine and nothing was wrong nothing was wrong maybe Arthur didn't really care for Alfred after all he was just being stupid and it's just been forever since he interacted with anyone so he started acting like he maybe really liked or maybe loved Alfred but that was stupid…

It was all fine.

"Um… yeah, Alfred. I'm very happy for you." Judging by the strangled noises, Arthur guessed that Alfred had his brother in one of two things: a chokehold or a crushing hug. Arthur guessed the latter, only because it was the most characteristically Alfred. Well, no, the former was not a truly inaccurate guess either.

"You have to help me cook 'cause Mom's out tonight at work."

"Okay, fine. Because, you know, I never have plans or anything…"

"You don't usually have plans, though." There was a pause. "Stop looking at me like that." Matthew apparently did not stop watching him with whatever unnerving expression he was apparently wearing, because Alfred just went into the bedroom without another room.

At least, until he was actually there. Then he started talking again. And _fast_. "Artie," Dammit, he was sure he exterminated that nickname, "This girl I really like is coming over for dinner tonight! Isn't that awesome?"

"I suppose?" Arthur did his best to sound indifferent. Because he was. At least, he wanted to be. But it was fine.

"I'm so excited! Do you think I should cook hamburgers or maybe chicken! Everyone loves grilled chicken…" He grinned with mischief. "Then again, maybe I shouldn't ask for your culinary advice."

"Don't be a git," he chided, his voice harsher than he intended.

"You okay?" Alfred seemed to sense something was wrong. A puzzled look passed over his features as he stared in Arthur's general direction.

"Absolutely fine." The words were dismissive. "Now get, don't you have something to do?"

It was all fine. He was a ghost, anyway, already dead, killed by salt or whatever it was and locked in this one room forever or at least until he figured out why. Alfred would live and die elsewhere and everything would be fine because after another year or so the family would move out anyway just like all the others and besides Alfred was nothing special was he?

After all, that's what Arthur Kirkland got for deluding himself.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**- … For the record, I don't think I ever implied it would be _mutual_.

On that depressing note, thank you all who loved this and I might as well thank those who didn't like it… at least you read it. Grumble… I still love you anyway. Fear not!

I could try and write a _real_ USUK at some point in my life… Maybe one day!

Or I could expand on this universe, detail other owners of the house or even just get Arthur to interact with Matthew or Alfred's girlfriend… or maybe Alfred one day realizes his true love is in fact Arthur and they somehow get past the barrier of Arthur being a ghost and descend into an embrace via the power of love and … cough… I'm getting more interested in this universe… :] We'll see if anything comes of this fic. I would probably find better titles for those sequels, though.

But, again, thank you all! I will see you another time!


End file.
